“Wie ben u, as ik maj vraa?” said Piet, falling back on his native tongue, as the task revealed unforeseen difficulties under the calm gaze of a pair of magnificent black eyes.
There was a sound of stifled laughter from the corner; but the three people looked past Piet, as though he had not been there, and this disturbed him more than the laughter. He stood shuffling on his big feet a moment, then turned and went back, this time without any swagger, received by an outburst of mocking laughter, which brought a glitter into the eyes of Hume and a flush to Webster’s cheeks, though they both appeared oblivious.
It was not long before Miss Anstrade retired, and then the two friends, rising, went up to the other group.
“Are you men drunk?” said Hume bitterly, “that you behave like blackguards, or is it because you know no better?”
“We are not drunk, sir; but it was a stupid business.”
“Yes, we are sorry.”
“Speak for yourselves!” shouted Piet, “and let me deal with these verdomde uitlanders.” He laid his big hand on Hume’s shoulder, and the next instant there was the sound of a heavy blow, and he was stretched on his back, shaking the veranda, while Hume stood with frowning brows and clenched fist.
“By Jove! that was a clean blow,” said one of Piet’s friends, “and he deserved it.”
“Ay, and so do you,” said Webster sternly.
The two men flushed, then they helped the Dutchman to his feet, and went off with him.